


Paint You Wings

by orphan_account



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, Small 2013 Ashton, prepare yourself, this is not a love story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 01:05:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7412443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke's not so great, and Ashton knows it...</p>
<p>One-shot based on ATL's song</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint You Wings

Ashton stirred a drop of blue into his mixture of paint, creating a navy that was so dark it could almost be called black. He put down his metal paint spatula and picked up a brush. He dipped it into the paint and looked at the blank canvas.

            He had only a vague idea of what he wanted to put down. He knew _exactly_ what he wanted the picture to represent, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. But he knew this was the right color. At least that was a good start.

            He took a deep breath and was glad to smell the sharpness of his acrylics over the old dank smell of their tiny one bedroom apartment. The place was built sixty years ago and had never been renovated, save for a new carpet put in twenty years back. Their appliances only sometimes worked and the air smelled faintly of ozone always and the cracks in the walls seemed to creep just a little bit longer every day. But that was probably Ashton making the worst of the situation. And he couldn’t really complain about the apartment either—it was all they could afford. Besides, the cracks in the walls were the least of his problems.

            He coughed, and his chest hurt. He put his brush to his canvas and started to paint.

            Half an hour later, the one door to the apartment was keyed open. Ashton stiffened, put down his paintbrush in a cup of water, remained facing his canvas and held his hands obediently in front of him. He lowered his head.

            “Fuck, it’s been a long day,” Luke said, shoving the door closed behind him with his boot. Ashton heard him walk in and put down his keys. And he could feel Luke face him and put his hands on his hips. “What are you doing?”

            “Painting,” Ashton said.

            “Turn around.”

            Ashton did. “How are you?”

            “Don’t you think you spend a little too much time on that? Do you _ever_ sell any paintings?”

            Ashton drew in a breath. “I do. Sometimes.”

            “Why don’t you get a real job? Contribute a little.”

            Ashton nodded. “I’ll look. I’ll go out soon and ask around.”

            “Finally.”

            Ashton swallowed, staring over at him. “How was your day?”

            Luke shrugged and cracked his neck to one side. “Like I said, fucking long. Fixed four units today. You’d think I’d get paid better for this shit. Look at my hands.” He held them out for Ashton to look at, for probably the hundredth time. It wasn’t rare that Luke came home and complained.

            Ashton nodded again, looking at the dirt in Luke’s fingernails and the callouses on his knuckles. “I see. Nothing hurt, broken, achy?”

            Luke shook his head. “No. But I can tell you what I could really use right now.”

            “I can make you anything we have,” Ashton offered, but he was fairly sure that wasn’t what Luke was talking about. And it wasn’t.

            Luke stepped toward him and came close, hovering over him and looking down into his face. “Not what I meant.” Luke’s hand inched forward and pressed between Ashton’s legs.

            Ashton turned his head sideways, making an effort not to squirm away. “I don’t really want to…”

            “No? Why not?”

            “I…don’t feel good.”

            Luke leaned his head down and kissed Ashton’s forehead. Ashton flinched. “Come on. For me. I’ve had a bad day.”

            _Every day is a bad day,_ Ashton thought. “Luke…”

            Luke’s hand came out from between Ashton’s legs and gripped onto his arm instead. His voice changed—deepened and flattened. “Come on, Ashton.”

            Ashton took in another shaky breath. “Luke, I don’t feel like—” Luke’s grip tightened painfully on his arm, fingers digging into his muscles. Ashton whimpered. “Luke.”

            Luke started to walk Ashton over to the couch, pushing him by his arm and getting so close Ashton had no choice but to step back. Ashton’s legs hit the couch and he sat back onto it. Luke leaned over him. “You know you want to, Ashton.”

            Luke’s grip remained on Ashton’s arm, squeezing tight enough that Ashton knew he was going to have bruises. He knew the amount of pain that would produce a bruise. This was not his first time experiencing this.

            “You want to,” Luke said again. “I know because you wouldn’t get hard in your pants when I touch you if you didn’t want it.” Luke’s left hand went back between Ashton’s legs, squeezing roughly.

            And Ashton was a little hard. The problem was that it was just a physiological response. And it wasn’t that he didn’t love Luke. He did. He told himself that he did, and he loved the side of Luke that sometimes came out when Luke was having one of his rare good days. He did love Luke. But he also hated him for what he did.

            Luke squeezed again, both places, and Ashton hissed in through his teeth. “Luke. Can’t we just have dinner? I said I’ll make whatever you want. We might have—” Ashton’s voice cut off when Luke turned him sideways with a rough shove and pushed him onto his back on the couch. Luke climbed over him.

            “I need it, Ash. I know you do too.”

            Ashton understood there was no getting out of this. There wasn’t usually a way out. Luke never really listened to him. And he knew there’d be consequences like the ones under his shirt if he didn’t do what Luke wanted. He looked up into Luke’s face and sighed out, and it trembled. “Okay. You’re right. You’re right, Luke. I want it. Do it. I want to make you happy.”

            “That’s it,” Luke said, and leaned down to plant hot kisses on Ashton’s neck, his stubble scratching against Ashton’s jaw. He stripped Ashton’s shirt off, revealing the yellowed bruises on his ribs from Luke’s workboots last week. Luke didn’t take any notice. Luke didn’t care. He undid his pants and pulled them down to his knees, and he did the same to Ashton’s.

            Ashton kicked his and Luke’s pants off to the floor and watched Luke spit into his palm, and he pressed his lips together. The bottle of lube was in the bedroom and Luke didn’t care enough to go get it. Fine. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, either. Luke covered himself and lowered down, one knee on Ashton’s side between the cushions and Ashton’s leg, and the other off the couch, planted on the floor. And Luke pushed into him all at once, and Ashton tilted his chin up and gritted his teeth, not daring to complain about the pain because it would only bring more.

            Luke pushed and pulled and eventually his precome made the pain dissipate. Ashton opened his legs a little wider, letting one go off the edge of the couch to join Luke’s. Luke was grunting into his neck, but then he lifted his head back up and gave Ashton a kiss on the mouth. Ashton returned it. “Luke…” he said, and then moaned because he knew Luke liked it.

            “You’re so good, Ash,” Luke breathed. “So good.”

            Ashton felt heat on his skin and realized it was a blush. He brought his hands up and pushed his fingers through Luke’s dirty hair and pulled down, kissing him again. Luke kissed him back, slow and wet, and Ashton twined his leg around Luke’s. Luke thrust again and again, making the old couch creak underneath their bodies. Ashton slid his hands down Luke’s back, played his fingers along his hips and just above his ass. Luke groaned and spilled into Ashton, thrusting erratically a few more times. Ashton held onto him and let him ride out his high.

            Ashton hadn’t come, but that was just how it was sometimes. He’d gotten used to it. Sometimes he could even predict when it was going to happen like that—he’d gotten to know Luke’s timing fairly well and he’d gotten to the point where the ache between his legs went away very quickly. Sometimes he could even prevent it from happening at all. All he had to do was think about when Luke called him useless or stupid, or when Luke put his hands or his knuckles on him far too harshly. That definitely kept the ache away. Luckily he didn’t need to think about those things today. He did ache a little, but he was just glad Luke had kissed him like that, told him he was good to him, and so he wasn’t upset about not coming this time.

            Luke pulled out of him and got up on his knees, then leaned back onto the other arm of the couch across from Ashton. “Could you do me a favor, babe?” he said, and nodded down between his legs.

            Ashton nodded and sat up, leaned forward, cleaned Luke off with his mouth.

            “Mm. If I hadn’t just come that would definitely make it happen,” Luke said.

            Ashton gazed up into Luke’s bright blue eyes, let Luke’s soft dick slip from his lips. “I’m glad I can make you happy.”

            Luke put on the smile he put on when he knew he’d gotten Ashton on his side once again. “You do, baby. You do. Come here.”

            Ashton smiled at him and crawled up and lay on top of him. Luke wrapped his arm around Ashton’s back and Ashton laid his head on Luke’s chest, brought his hand up under Luke’s shirt to rest on his ribs, hugging him lightly. Ashton knew that what just happened wasn’t good. But it was good. Luke did make him feel good—when Luke held him and kissed him and complimented him and called him baby, it made him feel good. And if he could make Luke happy, it was all the better. Ashton didn’t like when Luke wasn’t happy. Unhappy Luke made him feel bad in lots of ways. That was the Luke Ashton hated. But that wasn’t the Luke that was here now, so he supposed it was okay.

            “I love you, Luke,” he said quietly.

            “I love you too, baby,” Luke said, and reached down and gave Ashton’s ass a little squeeze. Ashton tugged himself closer to Luke’s body and closed his eyes.

            Ashton was not stupid. Ashton knew exactly what was going on. Ashton knew Luke used him and abused him— _God_ did he know those things. But he still loved Luke. Loved Luke enough to give him this gift he was planning on giving him. The gift in the painting.

            “What are you painting this time?” Luke asked, as if he’d read his mind.

            Ashton opened his eyes, glanced over at the canvas. At this point there was only a shadow of a figure, shaped vaguely like a man—tall and thin and broad—but warped, uncanny. He still wasn’t a hundred percent sure what he was going to paint, but he knew what the gift for Luke was. He needed to make sure that part of it was right. Because he loved Luke. Luke needed what Ashton was going to give him.

            Ashton smiled and closed his eyes again. “You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

            Luke said, “Well, I’m sure it’ll be as good as all your other ones.”

            “It will, Luke.” He tilted his head up and looked into Luke’s face. He kissed Luke’s chin, then pushed up a little and kissed his mouth, sliding his tongue over Luke’s. Luke squeezed at the skin on his back and pulled him tight to his body. They kissed for a while, and then Ashton pulled away again and lay back down, stared over at the unfinished painting. “It will. Even better maybe. I love you.”

 

…

 

Yesterday had actually gone really well. Luke had come home and had been smiling. When Ashton asked what it was, worried that maybe Luke had finally snapped, Luke told him that he was getting a dollar fifty pay raise per hour. Ashton had put down his paint—his figure was almost complete now, and then he had to do the background, and then he had to do the gift—and gone to Luke and hugged him tight around his torso. He said how great that was, and Luke kissed the top of his head. Ashton looked up at him, chin just below his collarbones, and asked how he wanted to celebrate. Luke had bent down and hooked his arms under him and picked him up and carried him, laughing, into the bedroom. They actually made love, and it wasn’t painful, and Ashton did come. Afterwards, Luke held him for a while and then Ashton made him dinner and brought it to him in bed. Ashton offered to please him again, but for once Luke said he only wanted to lay there with him and go to sleep—he was tired from working all day to earn that pay raise. The smile that spread over Ashton’s face was big and true, and they’d kissed softly, gotten ready for bed, and laid back down, Luke wrapping his arm over Ashton’s side.

            Ashton had woken up today in the same position, just with Luke gone off to work and missing from behind him. And he was happy. He was excited to get back to the painting so he could finish faster and get Luke this gift he had for him.

            He had been painting nearly all day, and Luke would be home again soon. The figure’s body was complete—dark and shadowy, just how he wanted it. Ambiguous—though he knew what it meant. It had lines around it like the sounds of violins in a scary movie, portraying a forward motion of the figure, as if it were walking out of the canvas toward him. Ashton had one final touch for the figure before he was to move on to the background.

            He cleaned his brush and got out his black paint. He squeezed just a little on his palette, not needing to mix it with his metal spatula this time, and picked up a new, smaller brush. He dipped it in the paint, and put two fuzzy, irregular circles in the middle of the figure’s head. The navy behind it was dark enough that it almost looked as if the black wasn’t even there—that the gaping sockets were never painted in the first place. But Ashton knew. That was what mattered. He looked at it, smiling, and didn’t look at his cup of water as he went to clean the new brush. And he ended up knocking the dirty, deep blue water off the stool he used as a table and onto the carpet.

            He could only stare down at it for a moment, appalled. He thought instantly about how he was never going to be able to get the dark stain from the tan carpeting in time. That would take a deep cleaning, and he probably had…he glanced up at the clock. He licked his lips. No time. No time at all. Luke should be home right about now.

            Ashton very carefully put everything in his hands down onto the stool. And then he rushed into the kitchen, going under the sink to see what kind of cleaner they might have around. And of course—cliché from a B indie film—Luke arrived home.

            Ashton froze.

            “Hey, Ashton? I was wondering if…”

            Ashton shifted on his knees, letting go of the sides of the cabinet and closing the doors softly. He knew how to resign himself. He did it now.

            From the living room: “What the _fuck_?”

            Ashton rose to his feet. He went quietly out to the living room.

            Luke was standing over by the spill. He put his hand out. “The fuck is this?”

            “I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

            Luke brought his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed harshly. “Do you know what this’ll cost to get cleaned? We have a deposit on this place, Ashton. God, you’re so fucking stupid sometimes.”

            Ashton’s chest shrunk, squeezing down onto his lungs and his heart. “I’m sorry. I promise—I’ll clean it myself.”

            “The fuck you will.”

            “I will.”

            Luke turned to him, going red in the face. “Ashton, if you don’t shut the fuck up. Christ. I’m so fucking done.”

            Ashton had nothing to say. He knew Luke was probably going to start breaking things now, as if that would help the situation. He just didn’t know what was going to be broken.

            Luke seethed. “You and your fucking paint. So sick of—” he kicked the cup the water had been in and it knocked against the wall, “—all of this crap.” He shoved the stool over, getting Ashton’s tools and paint all over the carpet, too. He reached for the canvas.

            “ _No!_ ” Ashton shouted, putting an arm up.

            Luke paused with his hands up and looked at him. “No? No what? You telling me what to do now?”

            Ashton trembled. “No, Luke. I’m not. But please don’t hurt the painting.”

            “Fuck you,” Luke said, and took it in his hands anyway.

            Ashton _needed_ that painting. If he was going to give Luke his gift, the painting was the only way he could do it. That painting was everything to him now. He needed it. So he did the only thing he knew that could absolutely get Luke away from that canvas.

            He swallowed and said, “Fuck _you._ ”

            Luke stopped. He had the painting in his hands as he turned fully to face Ashton. “What did you say?”

            Ashton took a deep breath and it still shook. “I said…”

            “I know what you fucking said.” Luke threw the painting behind him and Ashton watched as it skidded, face up, safely out of harm’s way. Ashton sighed in relief. And then his eyes flicked back over to Luke, who was already coming toward him.

            “Luke, wait. I didn’t mean it.”

            “You fucking said it.”

            “Luke, I swear. I didn’t mean—”

            The back of Luke’s hand connected with Ashton’s cheek in a slap. Ashton bent sideways and put his hand up to his face. “Luke, _please_.”

            “What the fuck—” Luke shoved Ashton hard and he hit the wall, “—is wrong with you. You think you can talk to me like that?”

            “No, I—” He cried out when Luke hit him again.

            “I pay every fucking bill around here. You don’t do shit. You’re fucking trash. I don’t know why I take care of you when you do nothing for me. This is _your_ fucking mess.” He hit Ashton again.

            Ashton closed his eyes and tried not to moan because he knew Luke didn’t like it. He started to slide down the wall but Luke hauled him up by the same spot on his arm from two days ago, where fingertip-shaped bruises had formed around his bicep.

            “Luke…” Ashton said, his head leaning sideways in pain. Luke put his fist in his torso. Ashton’s body tried to double forward but Luke wouldn’t let it. Ashton wheezed. “L…Luke. Please. I’m really sorry. It was…” Luke’s grip went even tighter than before on his arm. Ashton writhed and said, “Luke, you’re hurting me.”

            “Didn’t notice.”

            “Luke, please. It was an accident. I’ll—”

            Both his voice and his breath were cut off when Luke took his hand away from his arm and brought it around his neck instead. Ashton tilted his chin up, trying to breathe. Luke’s thumb and forefinger pressed against his arteries, cutting off blood supply. Ashton could feel his head getting heavier. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt tears run down his cheeks. He tried to say Luke’s name but of course nothing came out.

            “You must get sick of yourself, too.”

            Ashton heard Luke speaking but it was as if he were underwater. Under syrup.

            “I know _I_ do. You’re such garbage, Ashton. Really. I don’t know why I waste my time on you.”

            Ashton brought his hands up and grabbed weakly at Luke’s wrist.

            “I’m so fucking tired of you. Why don’t you just kill y…”

            Ashton couldn’t hear anything anymore. His vision was starting to fade out. His hands groped around and found Luke’s face. He held gently onto Luke’s cheeks, brushing Luke’s hair back with his fingertips, as he waited to pass out.

            But all at once he could breathe again. He drew in a breath of explosive pain and found himself on the ground, legs having given out from underneath him. He coughed, retched but didn’t vomit, pushed himself up onto his hands, then fell back down and rolled over onto his back. He opened his eyes and looked up, trying to get his vision to focus. When it did, he saw Luke standing there, one hand up to his face, fingertips touching the place where Ashton’s had been.

            Luke looked down at him and said, “Ashton. Ashton, I’m so sorry.”

            Ashton couldn’t speak. His lungs wouldn’t let him—they felt like fire. He went to put his hand out to Luke but could only lift it half a foot off the carpet.

            But Luke still understood. He got down on his haunches and took Ashton’s hand in his. “God. Ashton. Baby. I’m so sorry. What did I do?”

            Ashton coughed again. He started to roll toward Luke and Luke wrapped his arms underneath him, picked him up, carried him limp over to the couch and sat down with him lying in his lap. He held Ashton as if he were a child, close to his chest, arms wrapped around his back. He started kissing Ashton all over his face, down onto his neck where there would be yet more bruises tomorrow.

            “Baby, are you okay?”

            Ashton took in a breath and it wasn’t as painful as before. “Luke…”

            Luke looked into his face and kissed him on the mouth. “Ashton, I’m sorry.” He kissed him again and then pulled him even closer.

            Ashton’s head rested on Luke’s shoulder. He blinked a few times and saw his painting in the corner, unscathed. That was all he needed. For Luke. He started to speak but he coughed again instead. Luke rubbed his back. Ashton swallowed hard and said, “I forgive you. Th…thank you. Thank you for not hurting my painting.”

            Luke sighed and held him too tight, but Ashton didn’t complain. “Of course. Of course, baby. I love you.”

            Ashton pulled back and put his arms around Luke’s neck. Luke kissed him again, too hard, too much tongue. Ashton kissed him back.

            Luke stopped and said, “I said I love you, Ashton.”

            Ashton’s voice was scratchy. It hurt when he said, “I love you too, Luke.”

            Luke kissed him once more and then looked around the room. “It’s disgusting in here. Paint everywhere.”

            Ashton knew he’d have a night of cleaning ahead of him, but it was okay because his painting was okay. “I know,” he said, kissing Luke’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

            “You’ll clean up your mess?”

            Ashton nodded, even though most of the mess wasn’t his. “Mhm. It’s okay.” He glanced at his painting, only wanting to put it back up on his easel and finish it so he could give Luke his gift. He nodded again. “I’ll fix it. Really soon, Luke. I’ll fix it. I promise.”

 

…

 

Three more days passed.

            Ashton finished the background in two of those days, coming close to suffering a broken wrist during the night between them when he’d woken Luke up when he went to the bathroom. The third day, while Luke was out at work, he finished the gift. He ended up finishing early—and he knew it was because this final thing was what his brain and his body had been waiting for. It was ready to make the gift. And so when the time came, it was the easiest thing Ashton had ever done, despite how badly his wrist hurt when he held the brush up. And he was happy, because finishing early gave him time to let the painting dry. He wanted to cover it up before Luke got home. He wanted it to be a big surprise. He hoped it would be. But first, he had to remind himself why he was giving Luke the gift in the first place. That could only happen when Luke returned from work.

            He got an old blanket and covered the canvas a few hours later. He left all his supplies on the stool and went to the kitchen. He had food ready and was sitting on the couch by the time Luke opened the door.

            “Hi, Luke,” he said, and went immediately to him, holding up the sandwich he’d made on a plate.

            Luke looked at it and took it. “Great. I’m starving.”

            “I thought you might be. Come sit with me.” Ashton smiled at him and tilted his head, calling Luke over to the couch with him.

            Luke put his keys down and brought the plate over and sat with Ashton. Ashton waited, hands on his knees, as Luke ate. When Luke was almost done, Ashton leaned toward him and started to kiss his neck.

            Luke chuckled, mouth full. “You must be in a good mood.”

            Ashton hummed against his neck and nipped at Luke’s skin. “I finished my painting today. It turned out just how I wanted.”

            Luke swallowed his last bite and said, “Good for y—”

            He cut off when Ashton stuck his hand in his pants and squeezed.

            Luke chuckled again. “Must be a really good painting.”

            Ashton nodded and continued to kiss Luke’s neck, continued to rub at him. “It is. It’s perfect. Come on, Luke. I want you in me. I want to make you feel good. Come on.” He knew Luke wasn’t going to argue. He didn’t.

            Luke picked Ashton up again and carried him to the bed, threw him down on the covers. Ashton put his arms up and beckoned Luke to him. “Come here, Luke. Quick. I have the surprise for you.”

            Luke didn’t seem to hear what he said after _Come here_. He climbed up onto the bed and got over Ashton and shoved his tongue into his mouth, tasting faintly of peanut butter. Ashton grabbed Luke’s ass and pulled him down on top of him, shaking the bed. Ashton pushed his hips up and grinded against Luke. He pulled up on the hem of Luke’s shirt and dug his nails into Luke’s shoulders and did it again. He pulled his lips away and said, “Luke. Come on.”

            “Shit, Ashton.” Luke grinded back. “ _Uh_.”

            “Fuck me, Luke. Please. I need you to feel good. I need you to hurry. Flip me over. Do it.”

            Luke breathed hot against Ashton’s neck and Ashton bit his ear and tugged. Luke got up on his knees and stripped them down. He gripped Ashton’s sides and flipped him over. Ashton raised his ass in the air a little and spread his legs open for Luke to move between them.

            Luke shook his head, reaching for the bottle of lube. “Christ, Ashton. What’s gotten into you?”

            “No prep. Just fuck me, Luke. Hurry.”

            “All right,” Luke said, laughing darkly. “Calm down.”

            Ashton whined for Luke. “ _Please_.”

            “Fuck.” Luke slicked himself and then wiped his hand on Ashton’s ass, squeezing. He let his legs out and positioned between Ashton’s thighs and thrust in, groaning. “Fuck, Ash.”

            Ashton arched his back and tilted his head up. He let out ridiculous moans and whines, telling Luke to go harder and telling him how incredible he was. Luke’s thrusts created a nasty friction between Ashton’s dick and the mattress, but he wasn’t focused in the slightest on coming. He wasn’t even hard. All he wanted was for Luke to feel good so he could give Luke his gift. Yes, this was why. This and the bruises and the blood and the words. They were why.

            “God, Ashton. Oh, fuck. You’re so— _fuck_.” Luke came after less than a minute, pushing hard into Ashton, and Ashton moaned load over and over, shouting Luke’s name. Luke groaned one final time and collapsed onto Ashton’s back.

            Ashton smiled and held Luke’s hands in his, up by his head. Eventually, Luke rolled off and lay next to him. Ashton pushed up onto his side and put a hand on Luke’s chest, tapping his fingers lightly over Luke’s skin.

            “Damn, Ashton. Were you lonely?”

            “I have something to show you.” He leaned down and kissed Luke’s chest.

            “Yeah?”

            “Mhm.” He kissed him again and then looked into his face. “Remember? I finished my painting. See it when you walked in? I covered it so you wouldn’t see until we were done. It was a surprise.”

            Luke blinked at him. “Okay.”

            “Can I show you?”

            Luke shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

            Ashton grinned huge at him. He kissed him quickly and then pulled him to his feet. “Come on.”

            “You can’t bring it over?

            “No, Luke. It’s for you. I have your gift.” Ashton tugged on Luke’s arm.

            “Gift?” Luke said.

            “Mhm.” Ashton bit his lip and looked oddly into Luke’s face. Ashton’s eyes seemed to sparkle.

            “All right, then.”

            Ashton giggled. Luke rolled his eyes and Ashton led them, naked, out to the living room where his easel stood covered with the old blanket.

            Ashton tiptoed over to it and put his hands on the cloth. “Ready?”

            Luke put his hands on his bare hips. “As I’ll ever be. Hurry up. I want to sleep.”

            Ashton giggled again. He pulled the cloth off the easel and showed Luke his painting.

            The figure was still as dark, still as monstrous and scary. The background was faded grey, upon which Ashton had painted little cracks everywhere. It looked oddly similar to the walls that surrounded them now. Besides these things, the only other part of the picture was the most amazing of it all. Ashton had given the dark figure a pair of voluminous white angel’s wings. He’d shaded and feathered and used a bit of silver paint and made it appear as though the wings were three-dimensional; as if, were Luke to touch them, he would feel soft down under his fingertips instead of hard canvas.

            Luke nodded. “That’s pretty good, Ashton.”

            Ashton had his hands behind his back, had put them there when Luke was looking at the painting. He was still smiling. “Yeah? You like it?”

            “Sure. What is it?”

            Ashton tilted his head and laughed. “Luke, it’s _you_. Don’t you see? He’s you.”

            Luke sniffed, bored. “Is it? I didn’t know. That’s nice.”

            “I thought so. It’s your gift, Luke.” Ashton came toward Luke, hands clasped behind him, shoulders squeezed in, putting on his cutest face that might have had a touch of something else underneath it. Something like madness.

            “The painting?” Luke asked.

            Ashton shook his head. “No. No, Luke. The _wings_. They’re for you. The wings are your gift.”

            Luke raised an eyebrow as Ashton stepped right in front of him and smiled up at him. “Thanks…”

            Ashton nodded, got on his tiptoes and kissed Luke lightly on his jaw. “For you, Luke. Now you can fly away.”

            Ashton brought his right hand out from behind his back and plunged the tip of his metal paint spatula between Luke’s ribs, all the way to the handle.

            Luke’s eyes widened. He stared down at his chest where Ashton’s fist was still wrapped around the handle of the pointed mixer. There was still red paint on it. Ashton hadn’t even bothered to clean it off before he stabbed him with it. But, no…that was blood.

            Ashton pulled the mixer out and stabbed him again, on the other side of his chest.

            At once, Luke found it very hard to breathe. The thought went through his mind that Ashton had stabbed right through his lungs. The mixer was at least four inches. It was entirely possible.

            Luke said, “Baby?”

            “Fly away now, Luke. I’ve painted you wings. I’ve set you free. That’s your gift. You don’t have to do this anymore. You don’t have to be you anymore. You can fly away.” He stabbed Luke again, and this time Luke’s knees gave out.           

            Ashton pushed forward until Luke was lying on his back. Blood was trickling down from the holes in Luke’s chest, getting on the carpet. Luke coughed once, weakly. He might have been screaming if he had any air to do it with.

            Ashton stabbed him four more times, and when the seventh hole was made he put down his mixer and climbed over Luke, straddling his lower belly. He held Luke’s face in his hands and smiled at him. “I love you, Luke. Do you like your gift? I’ve set you free. I fixed it. For you, Luke. Everything for you. I love you.” He leaned down and kissed Luke, whose lips were slightly parted, trying to take in oxygen.

            One of Luke’s hands grasped weakly at Ashton and a tiny noise came from the back of his throat. Ashton sighed lovingly and took Luke’s hand and laced his fingers into it, kissing it. Luke stared up at him, and couldn’t do much else. Ashton held Luke’s hand against his own heart. “I know you love me. I love you, too. You’re free.”

            Luke stared and his chest hitched for a little while longer. Eventually, it stopped, and his bright blue eyes lost their shine, and Ashton smiled again.

            He kissed Luke’s hand one more time, then let it drop. He closed Luke’s eyes and kissed each one gently. He kissed Luke’s lips once. “You’re free,” he said.

            He stood up off of Luke. Luke’s dark blood was smeared on his inner thighs, but Ashton didn’t take any notice. He looked over at his painting and he smiled at it. He looked down at Luke’s body and smiled at him. He scratched his neck where the bruises were healing. He looked around the old room, tucked his hair behind his ear, and decided he was tired.

            “ _Free_ ,” he said down at Luke one more time, and he went into the bedroom, flicked off the light, and laid down to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Any quotes, song titles/lyrics, and things of that type are not my work and I take no credit for them (though I do thank those who made them for their incredible artistry).


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